Posted by: alegra22 | June 20, 2013

Sol versus Jesus

ImageSol arrived with his two long arms and two long legs moving as if they were at war.

He arrived with words – so many of them.

The words arrived tripping, pushing, and within seconds, piling into my studio.

A heap of buzzing need; they need to tell me everything all at once.

I took a deep breath.

Never mind meditation.

Never mind yoga.

Never mind Buddhism, Christianity, Catholicism, Hinduism, twelve step programs, self-help seminars, or raw-food/Paleolithic diets.

I’m a parent.

This is my path.

I don’t know how to survive my messy life without letting go and letting god. I no longer have the energy to believe I’m capable of controlling my universe. I choose to trust that the universe is always working for my greater good.

I have to believe in a higher power protecting me because I no longer belong to myself.

I belong to my husband, parents, children, close friends.

My heart is hidden within them.

Every day my children push, yell, sing, dance, and stumble distractedly along a tightrope suspended above the world; a tightrope connecting one moment to another.  When they arrive home, it is nothing less than a miracle that they’ve not lost their balance and this makes me believe in angels.

I gather them to me. I feel their lungs, heartbeat, their hands gathering me closer to them, and for a moment… I’m at peace.

And then I remember that there will be a day when I can no longer do this.
Again, I exhale.

I inhale their warmth.

I let go.

Parenthood/meditation/faith – whatever stable point on the horizon you choose to focus on, it all comes back to the heart, the gut, the exhale and inhale.

The moment.
I used to think I was impatient, lacked maternal DNA, and if I was incapable of being a good mother, at least I had the good sense to fall in-love with a man who was made to be a father.

I used to think I could positive-think my way past my autoimmune issues. I prayed. I confessed .I fasted. I tried to behave. I identified food sensitivities.  I’m healthier now than I was at the age of fourteen but I still run low-grade fevers most days and have chronic bronchitis.

I’ve learned that I’m patient but not perfect.

And I’m challenged to be patient with my lack of perfection.

I’ve had to withdraw from the teacher training program because I over-estimated my ability to physically, mentally, and emotionally stretch myself. I was coming home so exhausted from a day at school that I had nothing left. I couldn’t keep up with assignments or be a mother and wife.

It is a great leap of faith for me. I’ve identified two competing voices in my head. One shames me for not being able to provide for my family financially right now. The other rebels and stomps her feet and says, “I’ve given birth to three children – against all of my deficits – I’ve given birth to three beautiful children. Isn’t that enough? Can’t that be enough? Can’t I just be a mother and writer?”

Last night I couldn’t sleep. I crawled into bed with Zaviera and she instantly melded her body to mine and began to fart on me. Machine-gun fire, little girl farts. We spent the night like this; my guts rumbling with anxieties, her guts happily letting loose as she randomly shouted out things in her sleep.

I woke up to Sol stomping through the room, flicking on lights, and pausing to see if he’d managed to wake me up. He stuck his tongue out at me and let me know he was angry.

“Come back, Sol. I tried to cuddle you. You kept kicking me.”
He did eventually come back to his bed and I crawled out from beneath Zaviera’s arms and cuddled up with him. As I rubbed his back and snuggled his gangly, unyielding body, I thought about the moment that he came in to my studio all arms, legs, and words.

He stopped and pointed to a sketch I have framed. He asked, “Is that Jesus?”

I told him yes, it is one person’s idea of Jesus, but in reality his skin was probably a lot darker and his hair crinkly.

“Oh,” Sol said. “So Jesus was brown?”
Me, “Yep, probably. I’m not sure. I didn’t know him  back then.”
Sol considered for a moment.

“Can I take his picture out and put my picture in?”
I laughed.
Yes, of course.

So now, instead of Jesus sitting on a frame on my writing desk I have Sol.

It seems appropriate.

I think Jesus would agree, given enough wine and discussion.

 

And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” Mathew 18:3

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Responses

  1. I think Jesus would be proud of you. And I like the Bible passage too.

  2. Jesus would most definitely approve.

    I struggle with being there daily for my kids. I can provide financially but at this time (though they enjoy the benefits of the money since I’m the main provider) they express in so many ways that they want me. I’m learning to accept that I give them what I can, when I can and that it’ll be good. It’s natural to want to give them everything and you truly are. They’ll remember your presence, the conversations, the cuddles, the chasing chickens and quacking ducks and pond cleanings and adventures and LOVE far more fondly than mine will remember daycare and absences and a mommy who comes home so tired that she’s okay with putting on a movie and chilling with them until it’s time to cook dinner, eat, and do bedtime routine with far too little quality time.

  3. Jesus would be proud!
    I’m am proud of you too! You made the right choice. If you decide to go back you still can. If you decide not to, you don’t have to.
    You can still substitute and bring in plenty if you decide that’s what you want to do… or not.
    Meanwhile. You are doing the most important job in the world… and the time will be gone one day for this job.
    Prayers for you to find peace and fart like Zaviera, run like Sol and take all the time you need to enjoy your life.
    I’m so proud!
    You’re a woman after my own heart.
    I went through very much what you are going through. I just finished the program. I thought it would never happen. When the doc says you have a brain tumor, you don’t ever imagine balancing a mortar board cap on it.
    I made it through. I never thought the day would come.
    Don’t give up – if you want to teach, teach.
    If you want to be in school, take a class or 2 when you’re ready.
    You’re an amazing woman!
    I wanna be you when I grow up!
    Jesus would be so proud

  4. I’m not gonna lie my sister. I’m gutted that you had to pull out 😦 I understand why you did. Just gutted that you had no choice but to 😦 BUT again, teacher college isn’t going anywhere and that’s just another career you can look at in the (hopefully) near future. I love you and support you in everything you do. But you know this anyway. Get back to being you and being the mum and wife you know you are. Arohanui, D.


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